Tennison

Chapter fourteen

The café’s front window was filled with cheap Greek travel brochures and photographs, as well as a planning order and notice to customers that the café was to undergo refurbishment. The door had a broken blind with a ‘Closed’ sign on it. As John knocked on the door he was encouraged by the fact that it was difficult to see into the café from the street. At first there was no answer so he knocked again and a few seconds later the door was unlocked and inched open. The man who answered was a fifty-year-old muscular Greek with iron-grey hair. He had a hard, lined face with a jutting chin and bad teeth, along with bulging thickset hairy arms and a barrel-shaped chest. The top four buttons of his white shirt were open revealing a gold chain and coin pendant engraved with an owl with oversized piercing eyes, not dissimilar to the man’s own.

‘You Silas?’

‘Who wanna know?’

‘You do souvki takeaway?’ John asked, using the prearranged introduction his father had given him. The scribbled notes had been hard to read as they were written in pencil on Izal toilet paper and were badly creased, due to being refolded so many times in order to fit into the small matchbox.

‘You mean souvlaki?’ Silas spoke with a strange accent, a mixture of Greek and Cockney.

‘Yeah, I’m John Bent—’

‘No last name, first only, you come in,’ he said in a staccato manner.

John stepped inside as Silas looked outside, quickly glancing up and down the road before relocking the door. They shook hands and Silas jerked his head for John to follow him. The interior of the café was small and shoddy, with six tables covered in plastic red-and-white-checked sheets. A refrigerated display counter contained a number of plastic bowls with different sandwich fillings and olives, while cakes and Greek pastries were arranged to one side next to baskets of sliced bread and rolls. There was a large espresso machine, and an array of bottles and sauces on dusty shelves behind the counter.

Silas led John to a back room; the doorway had a greasy multicoloured plastic strip curtain hanging across it. Inside there were boxes and boxes of what appeared to be tins of tuna, vine leaves and assorted vegetables stacked on unsteady-looking shelves.

‘You wanna a coffee or sometink, or shall we just get on wiv it?’

‘I’d like to see where we start, and do you have a back yard so we can bring in the equipment or does it all have to come in via the front?’

‘I have yard, but maybe good if decorating stuff come in front way during first day to make it look real. I still open café in day and you work at night so look like I still keep business going. Anyone ask I say basement being converted for more seating as I expanding, so there should be no problem.’

Silas flicked on a light switch and John followed him down stone stairs into a large dank basement.

‘You got a power source down here?’

‘I got big set of cables with long leads, plenty power for down here.’

They stood side by side facing an old whitewashed brick wall. Silas slapped his palm against it. ‘This also bank’s wall. You smash through here, dig tunnel and vault is on other side, but you gotta thick concrete floor base that is gonna take hours of drilling — they say it supposed to be impenetrable.’

‘Bloody hell, it’s a lot of work,’ John said quietly.

‘Yeah and we only work through night and stop 5 a.m. before light and people about on streets. I open café at seven but only during week. I close weekends cos no local business open.’

‘I’m going to have to get some wooden RSJs and Acro props for that wall if we want to knock through it.’

‘What you mean?’

‘The wall here will not be that difficult to get through, but it’s a supporting wall so I need to put up support planks where we remove the bricks, which we’ll have to do slowly. Last thing I want is the whole lot collapsing in on us.’

‘Too bloody right,’ Silas said, looking concerned.

‘You know how thick the concrete floor is below the deposit vault?’

‘I hear is plenty thick, built three years ago. If we can’t drill our way in, we might need explosives to blast through.’

‘Blasting is a last resort. I’ve got a heavy-duty Kango hammer drill but I reckon it will be too weighty and awkward for even two of us to lift and drill upwards.’

‘So what you do?’

‘Get a smaller one which is more fucking cash out of my pocket.’

‘I also hear the concrete floor has gotta thick metal mesh in it for extra strength and security.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Course I serious — why I make joke about such things?’

‘Cos it means more expense and I’m virtually out of cash as it is.’

‘Why more expense — you trade big Kango for small?’

‘I’ll think about it, but I’ll need an angle grinder to cut through the mesh.’

‘No problems, I give you more money, you pay me back when job done.’

‘What about alarms?’

‘I don’t have any.’

John was beginning to wonder if Silas was stupid, but realized it was just the language barrier. ‘I mean in the fucking bank. I’ve got someone on board who’s a good bell man but he needs to know what he’s up against to disarm it.’

‘Alarms inside of bank, plus all windows and doors. The vault has big steel entry door, but as we go up through vault floor from below it no trigger it.’

‘Of course it will...!’

‘No, listen to me. I hear there no alarm inside vault as they think nobody can get in.’

‘Whoever you got all this info from, does he know what we are going to do and is he safe to keep his mouth shut?’

Silas let out a deep guttural laugh, but John was not so amused and wanted to know if the alarm informant would have to be paid off.

Silas held his pendant towards John. ‘My father give this to me many years ago. Is the Owl of Athena from ancient Greece, a symbol of knowledge, wisdom and how you say... shrewdness. I have no informant, I hear the bank staff talk when they come in my café for food and drink, and the young ones they yap, yap, yap.’

John felt relieved and more confident about Silas who could have lied and said he did have another man who needed paying.

They both stood staring at the whitewashed wall. Silas explained that one of the safety-deposit boxes contained at least £100,000 in untraceable notes. John knew this, but he was curious as to how Silas knew. Silas explained the man used to be a regular at the café, and after too much ouzo one night he said he had put some nicked money in the vault.

‘Silly sod then get himself arrested, but added to de cash there’ll be Christ only knows what. People who use these deposit boxes stuff in jewellery and uninsurable stuff along with a lot of antique silver and dodgy gear — millions could be had for the takin’,’ Silas said grinning and then offered to make John a coffee.

They left the basement and went up the stairs into the café. Silas made some Greek coffee in a small copper pot that he said was called a briki. He poured one for himself and one for John into two clear glass demitasse cups with saucers. John took a sip out of politeness, but it was like tar and tasted far too strong for his liking.

‘This other guy you bringin’, you know him well?’ Silas asked, taking a sip of his piping-hot black coffee.

‘He’s the bell man, name’s Danny Mit—’ he began to say and Silas wagged his finger rapidly reminding him it was first names only.

‘Danny’s kosher and I’m using me brother to keep watch from up on high. Any sign of the cops, anyone passing, anything suspicious, or if we’re too noisy, he’ll be able to radio us to stop.’

Silas sighed. ‘I tell you, I gonna be very glad to get out of this shithole as soon as job is done.’

‘What will you do?’

‘I will have to get out of England, but I gonna disappear to Katakolon in my country. Get me a nice villa overlooking the Ionian Sea, a small fishing boat, then I’m just gonna relax.’

‘No family then?’

‘Yes, wife and three kids, but I already send her back to live with her sister a month ago. I gonna tell her I win big on horses so she no suspicious. I won a packet on the Grand National with Red Rum, what a horse. Besides she’s no complainin’ if living well in nice place. You can come and visit, you’ll soon be able to afford it.’ He grinned.

John smiled back. Looking round the dingy café he could understand why Silas wanted to return to his homeland.

Silas lit up a small cheroot and tapped John’s arm. ‘So you all set?’

‘Yeah... just one thing... can we trust this geezer in prison who set it all up? I know he’s got a long stretch inside, but what if he’s trying to get on the side of the cops? You know, settin’ us up and grassin’ to get early parole.’

Silas shook his head and rubbed his pendant. ‘Listen to me and the wise owl, I trust him cos he gotta trust me good. I know more about him an’ could get him banged up for a fifteen stretch. This is a payback, and if he is fuckin’ us over I will grass him up. That dough in the safety deposit was the takin’s from a robbery where a young rozzer got shot in the legs with a sawn-off. You understand me? Don’t think I’m some damned ass-stupid Greek that works tables.’

John nodded and looked at his watch. He’d been with Silas for nearly an hour and any worries he’d had were now allayed. He was confident that not only could they trust him, but also he was a shrewd man eager to get on with the job.

‘OK, let’s start the ball rolling, I’ll begin bringing the decorating gear over tomorrow night,’ he said with a sly grin.

Jane had arrived at work just before midday. She and Kath were sitting in the incident room updating the index cards, proofreading and filing statements.

‘I can’t believe how much my sister is carrying on about the wedding. She’ll no doubt have a fit when she sees me in the bridesmaid outfit — makes me look like Jayne Mansfield because of the corset.’

‘Can’t you get it altered?’

‘No time, it’s all been so rushed.’

‘She’s not up the duff, is she?’

‘No, she is not,’ Jane said indignantly.

‘Is she a virgin like you then?’ Kath said, grinning.

‘Don’t start on that again, Kath. I’m not in the mood for it, I mean what with my cleavage, the puffball sleeves and this huge sash with a big bow and the most awful shade — salmon-pink — I will look terrible.’

Kath tried hard not to laugh at the thought. ‘Not with a figure like you’ve got. Besides, look on the positive side — the sleeves might distract from your boobs hanging out.’

‘Shut up,’ Jane said as she threw a paper clip at Kath.

‘Do you two ever stop pissing about?’ Bradfield said as he entered the room.

‘We weren’t, sir. I asked her to throw me a clip to hold these statement pages together,’ Kath replied sheepishly.

‘Has Spencer Gibbs called in from Coventry?’

‘Yes, sir, about three hours ago. They arrested Dwayne Clark at an address this morning,’ Kath said and handed him notes she’d made of an earlier phone conversation with DS Gibbs.

‘That’s brilliant. What about the bloke known as Big Daddy, or Josh?’

‘Neither of them was there.’

‘Bollocks, so we’re still no further forward. What else did Gibbs say?’

‘He’s bringing Clark straight here. He should be back soon.’

‘Well, let’s hope he persuades Dwayne to see the light before they get onto the North Circular.’ He was about to leave when he turned to Jane.

‘All those bits of paper in Julie Ann’s patchwork bag — you get anything from them?’

Jane held up some sheets of paper from the desk next to her.

‘I’ve copied everything down, sir. I am still working on them, but nothing of interest so far. I’ve made a note that Anjali O’Duncie was wrong about overhearing the name “Paddy”, and Julie Ann actually made the call to her father so it was “Daddy” and not connected to Big Daddy the drug dealer.’

Bradfield grabbed Jane’s notes from her hand and had a quick glance-over before dropping them down on her desk. ‘Well, pull your finger out, Tennison. I’ve got the DCS on my back and he wants results. If DS Gibbs returns in the next hour tell him I’ll be in the canteen.’

Jane waited until he left the room and looked at Kath who was checking her watch. ‘Kath, can you help me with this? There’s initials, odd names and phone numbers... but I just haven’t—’

‘No can do, Jane. I’ve got to go over to Old Street Court. That burglar I nicked screwing the old people’s flats is appearing. I shouldn’t be too long as he’s pleading guilty and asking for a number of other burglary offences to be taken into consideration.’

‘That’s a great result, Kath, and good for your career.’

‘Kind of odd because he’s a nasty little sod and then there was all that cash we found hidden under his bed. He must have done way more jobs than he’s admitting to. Then again maybe he’s being a bit savvy as he was caught bang to rights. If he was found guilty by a jury at a trial he’d get an even heavier prison sentence. Still, either way at least he’ll be behind bars where he belongs, and the old ’uns will feel a bit safer.’

Jane had just started to go through the names and numbers from Julie Ann’s bag when a sharply dressed DS Gibbs walked in singing ‘Nights In White Satin’. He asked where Bradfield was and she informed him the DCI was in the canteen before asking if Dwayne Clark had said anything on the journey back. Gibbs told her briefly that he had denied knowing Julie Ann and Eddie Phillips and didn’t know any Big Daddy or where Josh lived, but thanks to a Coventry drug squad informant they now had various possible names for him.

‘Josh Richards, Jenkins, Rankin — all bullshit, no doubt, so Christ knows what his real name actually is. Do me a favour while I speak with the boss — can you go through all the index cards, statements, information, in fact everything we have and check if the name “Tod” appears anywhere?’

‘Well, he asked me to check off Julie Ann’s stuff asap,’ Jane said.

‘Make my request the priority, and don’t look so worried, he’ll agree with me.’ Gibbs did a quick drum beat on the desk then resumed his singing as he left the room.

Bradfield was just finishing his bread-and-butter pudding with custard when Gibbs put his coffee and sandwich down on the table and sat opposite him.

‘We got Dwayne.’

‘I heard, but not Big Daddy, which is what I would have preferred.’

‘I know, but I’m pretty certain that Josh is the first name of Big Daddy. There are different surnames he uses, but I need to do a bit of digging on them.’

‘Did Dwayne say anything in the car?’

Gibbs finished a mouthful of his sandwich. ‘Nope, just repeated word for word what his girlfriend told us about expanding the window-cleaning business and being out of London for over a week at the material times. The bloke at the place he was staying alibied him — not even a used spliff in the place. Dwayne admitted working in the window-cleaning business with a Josh, but conveniently doesn’t know where he lives as he recently moved. He also denied either of them were dealers.’

‘You’re losing your touch, Spence.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Over two hours in a car with a suspect and you couldn’t break him to get a full name and address.’

‘I tell you he’s a tough one, and I got the impression he’s frightened of Big Daddy like Eddie Phillips was. I gave him a slap and even locked him in the boot of the car for nearly an hour. He was sweating like a pig but he still didn’t crack.’

‘Get him out of the cell and bring him up to my office so I can interview him,’ Bradfield said, pushing his dessert bowl to one side and standing up.

‘He’s not in the cell. I released him on the North Circular.’

‘You effing did that without even consulting me!’

‘I tried to get hold of you but you weren’t available. Come on, it isn’t as bad as it sounds. I’d already stopped and called the central surveillance unit at the Yard while he was in the boot. They were ready and waiting to tail Dwayne when I kicked him out the car, so no doubt he should lead us to Big Daddy.’

‘They’d better bloody well not lose him.’

‘Even if they do we still know where he lives with his girlfriend, and he’s unlikely to do a runner,’ Gibbs said, getting out his notebook and flicking it open to the last page. ‘I searched through Dwayne’s gear and there was a bit of notepaper with “TOD” in capital letters and a Primrose Hill dialling code on it, and sort of dots and ticks beside it. Might be a good lead so I didn’t take the actual note as I didn’t want to give away I’d seen it. But you know dealers do use their own forms of made-up code.’

‘Primrose Hill,’ Bradfield said thoughtfully, then clicked his fingers and gestured to Gibbs to follow him.

As they entered the incident room Bradfield pointed his finger at Jane.

‘Tennison, that list you were working on — let me see it.’

Jane handed it over and nervously asked if there was something she’d missed.

‘Did you write down everything exactly as it was on the notes in Julie Ann’s bag?’

‘Yes, I’m pretty sure I did.’

He looked through the list closely and then stabbed his finger at it. ‘There it is, that’s the bloody link.’

Jane and Gibbs looked at each other wondering exactly what he was referring to.

‘I knew there was something she was hiding.’ He looked at Gibbs. ‘Spence, get round to the hospital and drag that fat woman in here now.’

‘Who are you talking about?’ Gibbs asked.

‘The big black woman that works at the drug unit — the appendix-obsessed one who never stopped talkin’.’

Jane pulled an index card from the carousel. ‘Do you mean Anjali O’Duncie, sir?’

‘Yeah, that’s her — did she ever mention any relatives to you, Tennison?’

‘Not as I recall.’

‘Where does she live?’

‘Gave an address in Stoke Newington; it’s on her index card,’ Jane said.

Gibbs looked somewhat baffled. ‘Is there something I’m missing here?’

Bradfield held up Jane’s notes. ‘Are you positive you’ve recorded correctly what was on the pieces of paper in Julie Ann’s bag?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Bradfield pointed to an entry and showed it to Gibbs whose eyes lit up when he saw ‘TO’D’.

‘That’s the same three capital letters Dwayne had on a bit of paper, but without the apostrophe after the “O”.’

‘I’m sure there was a slight gap between the “T” and the “OD” on Julie Ann’s bit of paper,’ Jane added.

Bradfield held his hand up for them to be quiet as he paused briefly to think before continuing.

‘OK, this might be a long shot or a blinder, but I’ll bet my wages the “T” is an initial for a Christian name, “O” apostrophe “D” is a surname and our Anjali woman may be related.’ He picked up the phone, rang the comms room and asked for a name check to be run on criminal records against black males with the surname O’Duncie aged between twenty-five and forty. He also said he was specifically interested in O’Duncies with Christian names that started with a ‘T’ and he wanted any results printed off and brought up to him immediately. He then told Jane to get on to the council offices that covered Primrose Hill to see if they had any tenants or residents under the name O’Duncie.

He put the phone down. ‘If Josh is a false name for Big Daddy used by Dwayne, then this “TOD” might be who we should actually be looking for, or at least connected to the drugs or murders in some way. Is there a home phone number on Anjali’s card, Tennison?’

‘No, she said she didn’t have one.’

Gibbs chipped in, ‘If she thought Julie Ann was speaking to Big Daddy on the hospital phone then she may have deliberately misled us by saying it was someone called Paddy.’

Bradfield nodded. ‘Exactly. We now know Julie Ann called her father but this O’Duncie woman’s in a perfect position to refer the drug addicts who attend the Homerton unit to a dealer so they can buy more drugs.’

Bradfield was feeling certain that at last they might have a positive breakthrough. Even more so when an hour later they had information that a Terrence O’Duncie, aged thirty-two, had previous convictions for drugs offences dating back five years. His criminal record showed he was black, over six foot tall and had an address in Stoke Newington, the same address Anjali O’Duncie had given, and it was suspected he was her younger brother.

Bradfield was eager to interview Anjali, especially as he was now more confident that Terrence O’Duncie was a strong suspect for murder, and might even be ‘Big Daddy’ himself.

Anjali was brought into his office later that afternoon. She was belligerent and accused them of harassing her, and denied knowing anyone called Big Daddy or a Terrence who had the same surname as her. Bradfield and Gibbs could tell from the beads of sweat running down her forehead that she was nervous and obviously lying. Bradfield slowly put pressure on her and asked if she knew a Dwayne Clark, but yet again there was denial.

He snarled at her. ‘I’m not a bloody fool like you! Clark works with Terrence O’Duncie, who’s on our records for possession of drugs, possession with intent to supply and supplying, and he’s done time in Brixton Prison.’

Anjali still denied knowing either man, but Bradfield had got an officer to bike Terrence O’Duncie’s file over from Scotland Yard before the interview. The mug shot showed a good-looking, lighter-skinned man with short waxed hair. He was six foot two inches and had deep, penetrating dark eyes and high cheekbones. He slowly pushed the mug-shot photograph in front of Anjali. ‘Terrence O’Duncie — the home address on his arrest sheet five years ago is the same as yours. He’s your brother, isn’t he, so don’t you dare say again you don’t know him or I’ll have you charged and in court so fast—’

‘What for? I’ve not done nothing wrong,’ she said, wiping her forehead on her sleeve.

He banged his hand on the table. ‘Aiding and abetting drug supply, assisting a murder suspect, conspiracy to obstruct justice in a murder investigation, which carries a sentence of life imprisonment.’

She sat in silence, shaking and wringing her hands, beads of sweat now falling onto her dress.

Bradfield leaned closer. ‘God knows what the hospital will think of you when I tell them.’

Anjali froze, her eyes bulging open with fear. ‘Please don’t, I really like working there counselling and helping those poor kids get off drugs.’

‘Don’t lie — you’re nothing more than a tea skivvy who uses the job to direct the addicts to your brother who then supplies them and pays you for the introductions.’

She began to cry. ‘On my life I don’t, honest I don’t, I just wanted to help them. Yes, Terrence is my brother, but mostly everyone calls him Terry. I haven’t seen him for weeks and I’ve never met anyone called Dwayne or Big Daddy. I knew Terry had a drug problem but he told me he was off the stuff and was living with a crowd of ex-junkies who were all helping each other through cold turkey. He said that if I knew any kids who needed support and a place to stay then I should send them to him.’

‘Did you send Julie Ann to him?’

‘Yes, but I didn’t tell Eddie about Terry, though Julie Ann might have.’

‘OK, now tell me where this brother of yours lives, Anjali.’

‘I dunno the exact address, I never been there. All I know is it’s a big four-storey squat in Primrose Hill.’

Gibbs leaned over and slapped the table.

‘Oh right, so you just send your junkie kids over without a street or a house number, stop fuckin’ lying.’

Anjali chewed at her lips, then opened her large bag and after sifting around brought out a small address book.

‘This is the truth, I am tellin’ you the God’s truth because I dunno the address. I send them like my brother said to 24 Court Road in Chalk Farm so someone there can tell them where to go.’

Gibbs leaned across and spoke quietly to Bradfield. ‘That’s Dwayne Clark’s address. Maybe he’s a middle man and that’s the reason we didn’t find any gear stashed there.’

‘Bloody well organized, isn’t it?’ Bradfield turned back to Anjali as Gibbs rocked in his chair.

‘Why did you lie about who Julie Ann was talking to on the phone in the doctor’s office?’ Bradfield asked.

‘I swear before God that I heard her say “Paddy” or something like it. My brother is doing good by them kids, but if I’d told you about him you’re all a racist lot an’ would think he was involved cos he was black and fit him up him with her murder.’

‘I don’t need to fit him up, sweetheart, he’s in it up to his eyeballs. If what you say is true then your precious brother used you to entice young girls into his set-up. Then he plied them with drugs and passed them round like rag dolls to be raped and abused. Problem was he got Julie Ann pregnant and she probably threatened to expose him so he murdered her. Eddie Phillips was another weak link and he had to die as well, so tell me, how does it feel to be responsible for sending two youngsters to their deaths?’

Anjali O’Duncie was now a gibbering wreck, sobbing and wailing whilst continually claiming that all she was doing was trying to help down-and-out addicts by giving them somewhere safe to stay. She was adamant her brother was a good honest man since he was clean.

‘What will happen to me now?’

‘That depends on what your brother has to say when I nick him, but for now you ain’t going anywhere until I find him. DS Gibbs will take you down the cells.’

No sooner had Bradfield finished the interview with Anjali than he received a phone call informing him that the surveillance unit had lost Dwayne Clark and he hadn’t returned to his address in Chalk Farm. DS Gibbs had expected Bradfield to be livid with him but was surprised at how calm he was under the circumstances. The reality was he knew they’d find Dwayne again, but his priority was to find Terrence O’Duncie and hopefully collar the so-called ‘Big Daddy’ for the murder of Julie Ann and Eddie. He told Jane to get on to Camden Council and ask where all the squats were located in Primrose Hill and in particular any old four-storey houses. They knew by now that the phone number attached to the note DS Gibbs had copied from Dwayne was that of a call box located in Primrose Hill.

It didn’t take Jane long to get a result. There was a four-storey terraced house that had been occupied by a number of ‘hippie types’ for eighteen months. The premises were in King Charles Road and had been empty and boarded up for five years before the squatters moved in. The street was expensive and fashionable, the local residents all very wealthy people, and although many had complained to the council there was nothing they could do under ‘squatters’ rights’. Also the previous occupant had died and no known next of kin had as yet been traced. The local uniform officers had visited the premises a couple of times due to loud-noise complaints, but the squatters had always been apologetic and polite. The house had even been raided on one occasion after an anonymous drugs tip-off but nothing had been found.

‘Where’s WPC Morgan?’ Bradfield asked Jane.

‘She’s in court this afternoon with the burglar she arrested.’

‘Right, you’ll have to come with us then. No doubt be a few women and kids in the place so I’ll need a plonk for the gentle touch if it starts kicking off.’

Jane hated it when her male colleagues referred to female officers as ‘plonks’. It was insulting, and even more so to think that only the women should have to play nanny to kids. However, she bit back a retort, glad to be able to gain further experience by going on the raid to arrest a suspect for Julie Ann’s murder.